


dance with me

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has to learn how to dance for a role and Grantaire proves to be an excellent teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dance with me

“Congrats, they want you.”

Enjolras’ hand froze in the air, never quite reaching the ramen noodles. The hand he was holding his phone with gave a twitch. “Wait,” he said, “they do?” He usually wasn’t one to question the choices of casting directors, at least not when it came to his own roles, but this was just weird.

“Yes,” Combeferre said simply. “Although that was pretty much clear when they specifically asked for you to audition.”

“Are you sure that they don’t want me for another role?” Enjolras asked.

“No, they want you for the dance instructor,” Combeferre said slowly, almost too patiently, as if he was thinking that Enjolras was being daft on purpose.

“Exactly,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes at nothing in particular. He picked up two packs of ramen. “Do they know that I didn’t downplay my dancing skills? All I can do is an extremely awkward waltz.”

“They do know that, which is why they gave me the number of a dance coach.”

“A dance coach?”

“Well, you’ll obviously have to learn how to dance.”

“You don’t say,” Enjolras said dryly.

“I’ll set up an appointment for you,” Combeferre went on, “and I’ll send you the details later on, I was actually just about to go out. I’m having dinner with Courfeyrac.”

“Oh, you’re having dinner with Courfeyrac.”

“There are some things we need to discuss,” Combeferre muttered. “He wants to go back to Broadway, I’m sure he’s told you.”

“And you have to talk about how you’re going to handle being away from each other?” Enjolras asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Combeferre said. “Courfeyrac isn’t… we’re not… I’m… not in the position to discuss this with you right now.”

“Like I’d tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point at all. Hypothetically, if there was something to tell, I wouldn’t even know what exactly it would be.”

“I see,” Enjolras said lowly. “Well, you two have fun figuring that out.”

“It’s a business meeting, Enjolras.”

“Of course it is,” Enjolras said. “We’re still on for Saturday?”

“We are. I’ll bring food.”

Combeferre also felt the need to remind him not to be too harsh to people on Twitter, to remind him that he had a photo shoot scheduled for the day after tomorrow and that he should make an effort to be nice to the person who was going to interview him afterwards, even if they asked him if it was hard for him as a gay person to play a character who was in a relationship with a woman.

Enjolras was sure that the latter wasn’t going to happen _again_ , but he promised Combeferre not to go on a twenty-minute rant just in case. He’d keep it at fifteen minutes for the sake of not being called _difficult to work with_ by the media again.

It was so easy to get a bad reputation in Hollywood. News travelled fast, even if the news that travelled were completely unfounded and not true in the slightest. Enjolras hated being in the movie business sometimes, but he loved acting way too much to just quit.

Enjolras did his best to ignore the woman who was not so subtly taking a picture of him with her cell phone, picked up some chocolate and then decided to cut his shopping trip short in favor of just ordering pizza later on. At some point some obscure celebrity website was going to write an article about him ordering pizza three times a week, but he couldn’t care less.

He’d come back from Toronto just a couple of days ago and even though Combeferre had made sure that his fridge wasn’t empty when he’d come home, it had mostly been vegetables and juice and, well, healthy food. Food you needed to cook before you could eat it. And Enjolras had never really been one for cooking.  

At least he wouldn’t have to play a cook in that movie, although learning how to cook probably wouldn’t be all that bad. Dancing, on the other hand, well, his mother had talked him into taking dance lessons when he’d been younger – hence the ability to awkward-waltz. He hadn’t been too fond of those lessons and had stopped going after a while. His parents had marked that the beginning of his _rebellious phase_.

Said rebellious phase, according to his parents, had never actually ended, though. Enjolras wouldn’t exactly call it that, he was just speaking up. People listened to what he had to say. He had half a million followers on Twitter, for God’s sake. What kind of person would he be if he didn’t use that kind of platform to say something?

Anyway, the dancing. It wasn’t like actors didn’t learn how to do things for a role all the time, they changed their entire appearance, lost weight, gained weight, took the same job as the character they were going to play for a while. Well, Enjolras couldn’t just become a dance teacher for a month. As far as he – and everyone he’d ever danced with – was concerned, he had two left feet.

* * *

Enjolras pulled into the parking lot of the dance studio that Combeferre had sent him the address of earlier. It was an old building, recently renovated, the sign above the door just read _R’s_ and Enjolras would lie if he said that it hadn’t made him smile. Little girls wearing tutus were being led outside by their Beverly Hills moms. Enjolras sighed. He’d grown up here, he knew those moms, his mom was one of those moms – well, in a way.

He waited until they’d all driven away to avoid any awkward encounters, then he got out of his car and walked inside, coming across one more mom who eyed him with curiosity, but eventually seemed to decide that he wasn’t actually that interesting. Enjolras held the door open for her and she walked away, her daughter in tow. Enjolras let the door fall shut behind them and then approached the counter, smiling at the girl who was sitting behind it.

She smiled at him in return and opened her mouth to say something, but not a word came out.

“Hello,” Enjolras said. “I have an appointment with...”

“Grantaire,” the girl said. “Yeah, sorry, of course. Down the hall, first door on the right.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, smirking when he heard her let out a deep breath as he left. He found the door she’d pointed him to – it was open, the room empty except for a couch and a table with a stereo on it, a couple of yoga mats stashed under it. And there was a guy sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall of mirrors opposite the door, phone in hand.

Enjolras hadn’t found out much about him online. He’d done a few music video choreographies, had worked on a couple of movies, no one had anything bad to say about him. There’d been a couple of videos on YouTube and, well, Grantaire was an excellent dancer, but Enjolras hadn’t really been able to find anything on Grantaire as a person.

He couldn’t always pick the people he worked with, but Enjolras did try not to associate too much with Hollywood’s biggest hypocrites. Obviously it was unavoidable in some cases, but he certainly would be able to find another dance coach in case this one turned out to be completely unbearable.

Enjolras cleared his throat and Grantaire startled, dropping his phone. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras said. “I’m–”

“François Enjolras, it’s so lovely to meet you,” Grantaire said and scrambled to his feet, walking over to him, holding out his hand.

Enjolras took a deep breath, wondering if he could really dislike someone solely judging by how they said his name. “You must be Grantaire,” he said, “and, please, just call me Enjolras. That’s what...” Well, that was what his friends did, most of his colleagues, too. But Grantaire was neither. “Well, it’s what most people do.”

“Alright,” Grantaire said and picked up a yoga mat from under the table, spreading it out on the floor. “Have a seat.”

Enjolras frowned. He was pretty sure that they wouldn’t do any dancing while they were sitting on the floor.

“Come on,” Grantaire said and flopped down, looking up at him expectantly. “I’m the one who knows what he’s doing here.”

Enjolras decided that it might be a bad idea to point out that he wasn’t so sure about that, so he just put down his bag and joined him. “So...”

“So,” Grantaire echoed. “Tell me about your character.”

Enjolras’ frown only deepened. “My character?”

“Yeah, the one you’re gonna play in the movie.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Obviously,” Enjolras said, but that really didn’t explain a thing. “You’ll be on set to supervise the dancing scenes, I’m sure they’ve sent you the script.”

“Sure, but I’m not gonna play him, you are. So tell me who he is.”

Enjolras sighed. This was a waste of time. He told Grantaire anyway. The movie was of the _Love_ _Actually_ type, all the characters were connected somehow, it wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was diverse. His character was gay, a dance instructor, and Enjolras wasn’t sure if he should see a stereotype there, but at least the fact that he was gay wasn’t the most interesting thing about him. Which really was a rarity in Hollywood.

The media was still all over him being gay. He’d never actually kept it a secret, but when Enjolras had explicitly stated it in an interview over two years ago, everyone had still acted as if it was some kind of a big shock. That was beside the point, though.

His character, well, he was funny, hard-working, had to take care of his dying mother and hardly had time to take care of his own life.

“He falls in love, though, doesn’t he?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras nodded. “He does.”

“A nice happy ending for you,” Grantaire said, grinning at him. “Just lovely.”

“At least I don’t have another fictional boyfriend dying from AIDS,” Enjolras said. Gay characters didn’t get enough happy endings. Maybe he should write a script for a change.

“You won a Golden Globe for that, though.”

Enjolras bit his lip. It shouldn’t surprise him that Grantaire knew. Grantaire had probably done some googling on his own or maybe he’d even seen the ceremony. “I did.”

Grantaire winked at him and got back to his feet, pulling Enjolras up as well. “I liked your acceptance speech.”

“Well, you were one of the very few people who did.”

“Hollywood doesn’t usually like being called out on its bullshit,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “You had a point. And even though your PR dude might have not been happy with you and would have rather you’d thanked God and your devoted family, a lot of people agreed with you. Not that they’re doing anything about it, but hey.”

“It’ll take some time until things change.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked. “But things _are_ going to change? I mean, these days it’s pretty much a revolution when the word _bisexual_ is uttered on TV.”

“You can’t expect things to suddenly be different overnight.”

“Honestly, you can’t really expect things to change at all,” Grantaire said. “Not as long as studios are run by middle-aged white dudes.”

Enjolras pursed his lips. “It’s a process. One day there’ll be other people running those studios.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Enjolras bristled. “What do you suggest? Should I just watch and say nothing, do nothing, and pretend that this industry isn’t full of shit?”

“No,” Grantaire said, “that’s not what I’m saying at all.” He smirked. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” Enjolras snapped.

“Opinionated,” Grantaire said, wiggling his eyebrows at him. “You know, I read that you’re difficult.”

“I’m not ignorant and passively accept everything, you mean.”

Grantaire laughed. “You’re so not what I was expecting. Like, I thought you were gonna be a fucking diva. Seriously, I’ve worked with _difficult_ people before, but hey, studios pay well. I thought you were gonna make my life hell, but so far you’re actually just hopelessly idealistic. It’s very entertaining.”

“Entertaining,” Enjolras echoed. He honestly wasn’t so sure what to think about Grantaire. He didn’t know if they were getting along or if Grantaire was mocking him, if he liked him or not. To be honest, Enjolras wasn’t so sure if he liked Grantaire either.

“Oh yeah,” Grantaire said and snatched the yoga mat off the floor. “Alright, now that we’ve got to know each other a little better, we can focus on what we’re actually here for.” He took a step back, nodding at Enjolras. “Show me your moves.”

“My _moves_?” Enjolras asked. The reason he was here was because he had absolutely no moves.

“Well, you can’t tell me that you’ve never done any dancing in your entire life.”

“I know how to waltz,” Enjolras said. And he couldn’t even do that very well. “Sort of.”

Grantaire looked like it was only now starting to dawn on him that Enjolras actually didn’t know how to dance at all. “Well,” he said, “let’s start with that, then. I mean, there’s this couple that meets in your character’s class, you can teach them how to waltz, that’ll be nice.” He took his iPod out of the dock on the stereo and picked a song before he wandered back over to Enjolras.

“Right,” Enjolras said, taking a step closer as well. “I’ll just...”

“Put this,” Grantaire reached for his hand, “right here.” He placed it on his back with a smile. “Are you sure that you know how this works.”

“I said _sort of_ ,” Enjolras muttered.

“Do you remember the steps?”

Enjolras did and he also remembered that he was supposed to lead and he really did try his hardest, but it didn’t actually work out in his advantage. After he’d stepped on Grantaire’s feet at least half a dozen times, Grantaire let go of him, laughing lowly. “Well, the good news is that you know when to take a step. You just have to be a little more careful about where you’re stepping.”

“Sorry about your feet,” Enjolras said, trying to ignore that he was blushing. Now was not the time to be embarrassed. He was here to learn something after all.

“It’s fine,” Grantaire said, “I teach a lot of beginners classes.” He tugged his fingers through his hair. “Listen, here’s what we’re going to do. Basically, by the time you start shooting that movie, you’ll have to know three different dances and we’ll somehow have to remove that stick from your ass. The more practice you get the better. Do you have anyone at home you can dance with?”

Enjolras frowned, not sure how to answer. He could obviously ask Combeferre for help and Courfeyrac was a great dancer, so he could help him out as well, but he’d rather not drag them into this.

“Look, I’m not gonna call up my friends at _Us Weekly_ and tell them that you have a boyfriend or anything.”

“I don’t,” Enjolras said, narrowing his eyes. “And if _Us_ _Weekly_ suddenly knows that I’m a horrible dancer, at least I’ll know how told them.”

“You’re not that bad,” Grantaire said, smiling at him.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“Aw, come on, I’ll ask a friend of mine to do my group classes so we have a little more time to practice and then I won’t have to lie to you anymore.”

* * *

“You need to relax.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I am relaxed.”

“You don’t look relaxed,” Grantaire said. “Look, just... no, don’t slouch.”

“I just don’t know what you want me to do,” Enjolras said. He picked up his bottle of water and took a sip. They were at it since eight in the morning, now it was nearly noon and even though they had taken a break in between – Grantaire had brought fruit salad and sandwiches for both of them – Enjolras was exhausted.

He knew the steps. That really wasn’t the problem. It somehow still didn’t look right and that wasn’t just Grantaire nagging at him. Enjolras could see it, too. Obviously he wasn’t as bad as he had been two weeks ago, but _not bad_ just wasn’t good enough.

For that movie he needed to be Grantaire – or a less obnoxious version of him. Grantaire was a good teacher, there was no doubt about it, but he wouldn’t stop riling Enjolras up. The arguing was part of their dance routines.

“Let’s take a break,” Grantaire mumbled. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, okay?”

Enjolras nodded and went to check his messages while Grantaire was gone. Grantaire had threatened to confiscate his phone after it had kept ringing during their second lesson, so Enjolras had had to promise that he’d turn it off and concentrate. Usually their lessons were only one and a half hours long, though.

Grantaire reappeared, chucking a chocolate bar at Enjolras. “I think I know what your problem is.” He sat down next to him, faintly smelling of smoke now. “You think too much,” Grantaire went on, “every step you take is calculated. I’m pretty sure that everything you do on a day-to-day basis is calculated, your career, your interviews, your activism, you think all of that through, but you can’t dance like that. It makes you look like a robot.”

“I’m not a robot,” Enjolras said gruffly.

“I know that. You don’t _act_ like a robot either. You have this really... weird presence, you know? When you’re on screen, it’s just... you’re in focus, you demand to be in focus. I watched that film your dad made when you were a kid the other day and–”

“Why would you watch that?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I was interested.”

“It’s French,” Enjolras said. He’d been five years old when his dad had dragged him into this whole mess. They’d moved from Paris to Los Angeles when he’d been six, so his parents could pursue their respective careers and Enjolras had kept doing movies. He’d had fun, but at some point he’d realized that acting was what his parents wanted him to do, so he’d stopped. After a couple of years he’d realized that he missed it, so he’d gone back to castings. He’d found himself a manager, a tiny apartment, and he’d started again and his parents had no part of it.

Grantaire hummed, interrupting his train of thought. “Maybe we should call it a day. I can tell that you’re frustrated and not–”

“I’m not frustrated.”

“No, not at all,” Grantaire muttered. “Anyway, I have homework for you. I’ll send you a playlist and I want you to dance to those songs. On your own, in your living room or whatever. Not the steps I taught you, just... have fun. Stop taking this so seriously.”

“It’s my job, Grantaire, I can’t just not take it seriously.”

“Just do it,” Grantaire said, looking only somewhat resigned. “Are you coming by on Wednesday evening?”

“Of course I am,” Enjolras mumbled. “I’m taking this seriously, remember?”

Grantaire snorted. “Right. Hey, can you maybe pose next to my opening hours for your paparazzi friends? It’d save me some advertising.”

Enjolras only groaned and grabbed his bag. When they’d first shown up, Enjolras had started coming in through the back door, but they’d found that one as well, so it really didn’t matter which door he used anymore.

“See you on Wednesday,” Grantaire called after him.

Enjolras was definitely not smiling when he left. 

* * *

“How did the... Jesus fuck, what are you wearing?”

“Shorts,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly and okay, maybe they were really short, but it was a particularly hot day. Enjolras didn’t care too much about the clothes he was wearing, which was why Courfeyrac frequently referred to him as a fashion disaster. Enjolras had learned to stick to simple suits for movie premieres.

“I have air-conditioning,” Grantaire whispered.

“I know, I brought longer sweatpants in case I get cold,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

Grantaire muttered something under his breath and fiddled with his iPod. “Right,” he said lowly and looked at Enjolras again, “how did the dancing go?”

“I felt ridiculous,” Enjolras said. It had felt strange, dancing on his own in his living room for no reason whatsoever. He’d got into it after a while, but he still hadn’t really felt comfortable.

Grantaire scrunched up his nose. “Well, I asked Musichetta to come by after her ballet class and you’ll dance with her and I’ll try to figure out what you can do better.”

“Musichetta?” Enjolras asked.

“You’ve met her,” Grantaire said. “Very curly hair, very freckly, wearing very colorful clothes?”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, nodding, “yeah, she was at the counter when I came here for the first time.”

“Yeah, that’s her. She was so starstruck, it was hilarious. Like, one of her boyfriends is an actor, you’d think that she’d be used to being around famous people, but hey, I can hardly blame her, I mean, look at you.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, how do you do that? It looks kinda cool.”

“Don’t change the topic,” Enjolras said sternly. “What did you mean?”

“Your mom is a model.” Grantaire shrugged. “It shows.”

Before Enjolras could reply, Musichetta came waltzing inside, beaming at him. “Hello there, nice to see you again.”

Grantaire laughed. “Wow, look who found their chill.”

Musichetta only glared at him and then joined Enjolras in the middle of the room. “Well, let’s do this, I have a date to go to.”

Enjolras tried his hardest not to look at Grantaire too much. He was watching from the sidelines, taking notes. At least Enjolras didn’t step on Musichetta’s feet, he didn’t stumble, but he still wasn’t quite happy with himself in the end. Even though Musichetta told him that he’d done well, even though Grantaire smiled at him afterwards and gave him a thumbs-up.

“It’s still not quite right,” Enjolras muttered once they’d said goodbye to Musichetta.

“You’re a terrible, _terrible_ perfectionist,” Grantaire said. “But hey, we still have time. All you need is practice. You’re still concentrating on not doing anything wrong. The more you dance, the sooner that feeling will go away.” Grantaire held out his hand. “Shall we?”

* * *

“So...” Grantaire gave him a nudge. “I guess that’s it? Unless there’s anything you’re still unsure about, but honestly, you’re good. And I’ll be on set, so you basically have nothing to worry about.”

Enjolras nodded. He had no reason to doubt Grantaire. He’d shoot some other scenes first, Grantaire would join them for the dance lesson scenes about two and a half weeks in if everything went according to schedule.

“If you feel like you need one more practice round or whatever, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t sure if he should give Grantaire a hug, just to add some emphasis to how truly indebted he was to him, but Enjolras decided to just go for a handshake instead. “I’ll see you soon.”

 _Soon_ was only about a week later. There was something they’d completely forgotten about, so Enjolras found himself outside Grantaire’s door once again. He’d soon figured out that the stairs he’d always walked past when he’d taken the backdoor led up to Grantaire’s apartment.

There were no paparazzi around the studio today. They were probably all perched outside nightclubs by now, hoping someone vaguely well-known would come outside and do something embarrassing. Or something that could be _sold_ as embarrassing.

Enjolras rang the doorbell and Grantaire opened the door for him a minute later, wearing his usual sweatpants and shirt combo, looking rather confused. “Please tell me I didn’t forget that we had an appointment.”

“We don’t have an appointment,” Enjolras said quickly. “There’s just something we forgot about. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”

“Yeah, sure. I already closed everything up, so just come upstairs,” Grantaire said and ushered Enjolras inside and up the stairs.

Grantaire’s apartment was, well, not what Enjolras had expected. It was an open-plan apartment, the furniture looking mostly handmade, and it was tidy, cluttered, yes, but it looked like everything had its place. There was a huge bookshelf lining one wall, another one was covered in old traffic signs and license plates from all over the country.

“I made that with a friend of mine,” Grantaire said, following Enjolras’ gaze. “His name’s Feuilly, he does set design and stuff like that. He built most of my furniture, too.”

“I bought most of my furniture at IKEA,” Enjolras said. And he’d even had trouble putting all of that together. He’d probably still be sleeping on a mattress on the floor if Courfeyrac and Combeferre hadn’t helped him out.

Grantaire snorted. “Can you even go to IKEA?”

“I haven’t been there in a while,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “But I suppose it wouldn’t be that bad, I mean, no one would expect me there. And people who go to IKEA go there to look at furniture, not at people.”

“Right,” Grantaire mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, “well, what did we forget about? Sorry about that, by the way, I thought we had everything covered.”

“Well, there’s this scene towards the end where my character’s love interest shows up at his dance studio. And they slow dance. You didn’t teach me how to slow dance. And although I’m aware that it’s not actually hard, I just figured it wouldn’t hurt if you showed me.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows disappeared behind his mess of curls. “You want me to show you how to slow dance? Enjolras, that’s literally just like, you know, the way you dance at prom or something. You know, super romantic and all that.”

“Well, I didn’t go to prom.”

“You didn’t go to prom?” Grantaire asked, letting out deep sigh.

“I was homeschooled.” Enjolras shrugged. He knew this was a little ridiculous of him, but he wanted to make sure that he’d show up on set and knew what he was doing.

“A _terrible_ perfectionist,” Grantaire mumbled, shaking his head. He walked over to his huge shelf, sifting through old records, humming lowly as he picked on of them and put it on his record player. “Okay, get over here.”

Enjolras did and took Grantaire’s hand, the other one came to rest on his back, like always. “And now we just...”

“We just move to the left and then to the right and then we do it over and over again,” Grantaire said, smirking up at him. “Although in the movie it’ll probably be a little more like this...” He let go of Enjolras’ hand and slung both his arms around his neck. “I’m sure you’ve at least seen movies that had proms in them.”

“Of course,” Enjolras muttered and put his other hand on Grantaire’s back as well. “I just thought that it might have been awkward if I’d shown up on set not knowing what on earth I was doing.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Grantaire said, fingers twitching against the back of Enjolras’ neck. “You’re a fast learner, though.”

Enjolras bit his lip. “Thank you.” Enjolras still didn’t think that he’d missed out just because he hadn’t been able to go to prom, but dancing like this actually felt nice. It was strange being so close to Grantaire, though. Usually they’d always kept a respectful distance, they were both professionals after all.

“Well,” Grantaire said and spun Enjolras around once the song had ended, “since you’re already here, do you want to do some other dances as well?”

Enjolras had to get up at 4:30 the next morning. His dance studio scenes were still a while away. He really needed a good night’s sleep, too. But he wouldn’t go straight to bed if he went home right now. “Sure, yeah,” he said.

* * *

“Are you okay?” Courfeyrac asked. He was busy eating pretty much everything in Enjolras’ kitchen that was even remotely edible.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Enjolras asked. He’d been going through scripts when Courfeyrac had shown up. And he still didn’t know _why_ Courfeyrac had shown up, but Enjolras was pretty sure that he hadn’t actually come to eat all of his food or to ask him if he was doing okay.

“You’re texting,” Courfeyrac said and picked up a bag of chips. “You never text.”

“I’m just talking to...” Enjolras frowned down at his phone, where another message from Grantaire had just popped up. It was just a smiley face this time, so Enjolras put down his phone. “A friend, it’s just a friend.”

“A friend I don’t know?”

“It’s just the guy who taught me how to dance for the movie,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “I told you about him, remember?

Courfeyrac hummed. “Well, you told me about the lessons. But you never told me about the guy. Is he hot?”

Enjolras only frowned.

“Cute?” Courfeyrac continued. “Handsome?”

“He’s,” Enjolras shrugged, “a pain in the ass.” And strangely charming, but mainly a pain in the ass, so he didn’t really mention the former to Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac nodded expertly. “Ah, yes. I like him already.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, watching as Courfeyrac picked up an orange. “Courfeyrac, not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to hang out, I mean, I might go to New York soon, who knows, and sure, I’ll probably just be gone for a while, but we won’t see each other that much and...” Courfeyrac stared down at the orange, looking rather somber all of a sudden. “I just don’t know if auditioning for Broadway was such a good idea.”

Enjolras had a feeling that this had nothing to do with his abilities. Honestly, Courfeyrac had a Tony on his shelf. He was basically the walking definition of a triple threat. “This is about Combeferre,” Enjolras said.

Courfeyrac sighed and flopped down on the chair next to Enjolras. “I knew it was a good idea to come here.”

“What exactly is the deal with you and Combeferre anyway?”

“Who the fuck knows,” Courfeyrac groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Really, I don’t even know anymore. I love him so much, Enjolras, seriously, I don’t know what to do. Because we’re casual, it’s just a casual thing, I said that was what I wanted, but I just said that because I thought it was what he wanted and I really need to get my shit together, oh my god.”

Enjolras wasn’t quite sure what to say. Because he hadn’t missed that something had been going on between the two of them and while it really wasn’t any of his business, Courfeyrac had come to him with this thing. But, to be honest, Courfeyrac should probably be talking to Combeferre instead. “I’m really not the one you should be telling this.”

“What?” Courfeyrac asked. “Who else am I supposed to tell?”

Enjolras only arched an eyebrow.

“ _Him_?” Courfeyrac’s eyes went wide. “No, I can’t tell him. I can’t just drop this on him and then fuck off to New York, that wouldn’t be fair.” He sighed, laying his head down on the table. “What if I’m gone and he just forgets about me?”

“He handles all of your business, he’s not going to forget about you.”

“That’s so not what I meant.”

Enjolras smirked. “I know.”

Courfeyrac stuck out his bottom lip. “I’m so sad.”

“Well, I can’t really help you,” Enjolras mumbled, but reached out to pat Courfeyrac’s head. “You know what would help?”

“Ice cream?”

“Talking to Combeferre.”

“Nah,” Courfeyrac said. “Tell me more about your cute dance instructor?”

“I never said he was cute.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “He is, though, isn’t he?”

* * *

Enjolras tried his hardest not to be nervous about his dancing scenes. Everything was going to be fine. He remembered his steps, he’d practiced at home in his living room, as ridiculous as it was, had made sure that the curtains were drawn and had danced with one of his sofa cushions. It hadn’t been ideal, but he hadn’t wanted to bother Grantaire _again_. 

Right, Grantaire. He was going to be on set today, was going to make sure that Enjolras did everything right. He didn’t know how he’d feel about having Grantaire’s eyes on him all day. He didn’t even know how he felt about Grantaire anymore. Because at first Enjolras had been convinced that they just wouldn’t get along, and then suddenly they’d been something like colleagues, they’d been working together, and in the end Enjolras had thought that they might have actually become friends. At least in a way.

Enjolras wasn’t sure when Grantaire would show up, because all the actors were still in hair and make-up and it was still unbearably early. Enjolras honestly couldn’t wait for one of the PAs to get him some coffee. He’d do it himself, but someone was currently tinkering away at his face and turning him into the perfect Hollywood lie.

He wasn’t too fond of watching himself in movies, he didn’t look like himself. That was obviously the point of it all, he wasn’t being himself when he was acting, still, it was strange to see himself on a huge screen. He also always got distracted by his freckles.

“Coffee for Hollywood’s golden boy.”

Enjolras couldn’t help it, he just had to jerk his head to the side, because Grantaire had just set down a cup of coffee in front of him and was now flopping down on an empty chair. The make-up girl looked like she very much wanted to kick his ass.

“Sorry,” Enjolras muttered and turned his head again, now looking at Grantaire through the mirror. “What are you doing here?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I just love getting up at the asscrack of dawn and strolling around on movie sets, being in the way, bringing famous people coffee, stuff like that.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Do you.”

“I see that you’re suspicious,” Grantaire said, grinning at him. “Whatever, I was gonna show up here sooner or later. And I thought you might want to do a bit of a practice run, you know? Actually, I was expecting panicked text messages last night, but hey, apparently you’re doing pretty well. I’m so proud of you.”

“No, I…” Enjolras reached for his coffee, maybe gripping it a little too tightly. “That would be great.”

Once Enjolras was done, he took Grantaire back to his trailer, where he’d be picked up soon, but until then they might as well go over the steps again. Maybe that’d calm him down a little.

“You want to dance in here?” Grantaire asked. “There’s literally no space at all.”

“We can’t do it outside.”

“Why? Because someone might figure out that you’re not some kind of dance prodigy? I hate to break it to you, but I think they already know. Since they hired me to teach you and all.” Grantaire sat down, looking around slowly. “So, what kind of crazy shit do you ask for?”

Enjolras frowned. “What?”

“Well, famous people get to ask for stuff that they want on set, right? What do you ask for?”

“I’m allergic to peanuts, so I ask them not to give me food with peanuts in it.”

“Peanuts,” Grantaire said, nodding slowly. “Interesting.”

“Are you gonna call your friends at _Us Weekly_ now?”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be very interested in your peanut allergy. You know, Musichetta bought me a copy the other day because there was a picture of you leaving the studio in it. We’re gonna frame it.” Grantaire winked at him. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Did they call you already?” There was no way that no one had asked Grantaire for an interview yet. He wasn’t sure what sort of confidentiality agreement the studio had had Grantaire sign, but he obviously could have told them something vague, something that didn’t have anything to do with the movie. Although if he had, Enjolras would probably know about it.

“Oh, they did. Many of them. Wanted to know what working with you was like and all that jazz,” Grantaire said. “I told them that you were really annoying. And a perfectionist.” He laughed. “You know how many people would still want to work with me if I’d actually said anything to any journalist without your explicit permission?”

Enjolras smiled. “I knew the studio must have recommended you for a reason.”

“Those magazines pay well, you know? Only if you tell them something _really_ interesting, obviously. And the stuff I know isn’t that interesting.”

“You know some things that they’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

“Like your peanut allergy?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “No, but you could have told them another _Enjolras is so incredibly difficult to work with_ stories.”

“Yeah, but you’re not _actually_ difficult to work with.” Grantaire shrugged. “The only thing you asked for was no peanuts. I mean, I suppose you come on a bit strong in the beginning, but you’re cool.” Grantaire tapped on the table and stood up with a sigh. “Alright, let’s give dancing a try. We’ll just make teeny tiny steps.”

Grantaire had been right, dancing in his trailer was pretty much impossible, but it did calm him down. One of the PAs, Enjolras was pretty sure that his name was Marius, the cousin of one of Enjolras’ co-stars, came to pick him up. Grantaire followed at his heels, carrying Enjolras’ cup of coffee.

“Sorry, you can give me that,” Enjolras said and reached for the cup.

“I don’t mind,” Grantaire mumbled. “I guess you have some acting to do, I bet that cup would be in the way.”

Well, things didn’t go horribly. Grantaire had to step in a couple of times, to correct positions, to point out little details, but it didn’t bring them too far behind on schedule. Grantaire kept whispering tips to him between takes, although sometimes they weren’t exactly helpful.

“You need to stop doing that thing with your hair, it’s going to distract people from your marvelous dancing skills,” Grantaire mumbled.

“What thing?”

“I don’t know, you sort of toss it, although it’s actually too short to be tossed properly, but still, it looks really shiny and it’s…” Grantaire trailed off, looking anywhere but at Enjolras. “Anyway, that take you just did, it was good,” he said quickly. “I think I’m gonna get another one of those mini burgers, do you want one?”

“No, thanks,” Enjolras muttered and watched Grantaire stalk off with an amused expression.

It was a little strange, watching Grantaire on set. He seemed to get along with everyone and it was getting increasingly harder for Enjolras to tell whether or not Grantaire might have already been friends with someone before today. He smiled at everyone and stopped for a chat here and there, joking around and laughing.

Eventually he returned to Enjolras with three mini burgers, grinning broadly. “Okay, you have to fill me in on a thing… that guy over there who came to get us earlier, is he just really clumsy or does he trip all the time because he’s staring at Cosette instead of looking where he’s going?”

“I assume that the latter is the case,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t so sure what exactly was going on. He’d seen Marius and Cosette talk every now and then and Marius quite obviously couldn’t keep his eyes off her, but that was about it.

“I thought she was going out with him,” Grantaire said, nodding in the vague direction of Marius’ cousin, Theodule.

“She’s not going out with him,” Enjolras grumbled. “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

Grantaire snorted. “Don’t look so offended, it’s not as cute as you think it may be.”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to be cute, so I guess I did everything right.” He glared at Grantaire and then excused himself, wandering over to Cosette. They’d been in a movie together a couple of years ago and had stayed in touch, although staying in touch meant having lunch together every now and again and following each other on various social media websites.

“Enjolras,” she said, “Bahorel just told me that you learned how to dance for the movie?”

“I did,” Enjolras said, his eyes flickering back to Grantaire, who was now talking to one of the extras. “Grantaire taught me.”

“Aw, he’s great, isn’t he?” Cosette smiled. “He’s so funny.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said. “I suppose he is.”

“Do you know if he does private lessons? Well, he obviously did for you, but even when he’s not working with the studio? I have a few weeks off after the shoot and this is so much fun.”

“I’m pretty sure that he does. Or maybe one of his co-workers.” Enjolras had only met Musichetta, but he’d seen a list of all the different classes that the studio offered. Grantaire had at least four people working for him, but there were hardly ever more than two classes at the same time, so one of the three rooms remained empty most of the time. Enjolras was pretty sure that that one was reserved for private lessons.

He’d also seen that Grantaire taught ballet classes and, sure, Enjolras could definitely imagine Grantaire doing ballet. Enjolras had played with the thought of asking Grantaire to dance for him, just to satisfy his own curiosity, but Grantaire would probably never stop teasing him about it, so Enjolras had decided to just forget about it. He’d managed until now.

* * *

“Did you tell Cosette that I was doing private lessons?”

“Do you ever knock?” Enjolras muttered, not looking up from his script. He was sitting in his trailer, going through the next scene a few more times to make sure he knew his lines.“But yes, I told her. I thought you were doing private lessons?”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Yeah, I do… I actually just wanted to say thank you.”

Enjolras looked up. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I mean, you didn’t have to.”

“Well, she asked me,” Enjolras said, shrugging. “I just answered her question.” He held Grantaire’s gaze for a moment. “And you’re a good teacher, so…”

Grantaire bit his lip. “Okay. Yeah, um, thanks for that.” He held up a plastic bag. “I brought you some food. No peanuts, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, peering into the bag when Grantaire had set it down on the table. “That’s a lot of food.”

“Well, technically I brought food for both of us, but you can just take some and I’ll fuck off again. I mean, I stayed on set for a bit because I wanted to watch Cosette and Theodule do their thing, but it gets a little repetitive after a while, you know? I have no idea how you do it. Anyway, they said they weren’t gonna need me again until later on and since I don’t have a trailer–”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted, “just have a seat.”

Grantaire let out a deep breath. “Sure, yeah.” He sat down opposite of Enjolras and pulled one of the containers out of the bag, opening it with a happy sigh. “Movie set food is the best food.”

“Because it’s free?”

“Mini burgers,” Grantaire only said.

“You know, they’ll also get you a big one, all you have to do is ask for one.”

“But that would totally defy the point of this. I can get a regular burger anywhere, there’s a really great place right across from my studio, by the way, I don’t think I ever told you about it, but these are _mini_ burgers, not only are they delicious, they’re also adorable.”

“Adorable,” Enjolras echoed. “You just called burgers adorable.”

“Shut up, I’m having a great time here.” Grantaire pushed the container closer to Enjolras. “Try one.”

Enjolras had tried them more than once, but he reached for one anyway while Grantaire started opening the rest of the containers. There was some sort of stir-fry, some vegetables, a fruit salad, two little plastic bowls with chocolate mousse.

“I’ve seen you eat one of these every single day, I figured you liked them,” Grantaire said when Enjolras picked up one of them.

“I do,” Enjolras said. He picked up one of the forks to have some fruit salad first. “You know, my manager always says that it’s a good thing that I spend so much time on movie sets, otherwise I’d probably starve.”

“You don’t like cooking, huh?”

“I’m not very good at it,” Enjolras muttered. When he was younger his family had had a cook, he’d simply never had to learn. Maybe taking a cooking class wasn’t such a horrible idea. Although it would probably end with a video of him setting something on fire on YouTube.

Grantaire laughed. “Well, it’d be unfair if you were good at everything.”

“I’m not good at _everything_.”

“Yeah, you’re not good at not being a pain in the ass.”

“Please, I’m not the one who’s a pain in the ass here,” Enjolras said and snatched himself one more of Grantaire’s beloved mini burgers.

* * *

“It was really nice of them to invite me to this,” Grantaire said and sat down next to Enjolras, “you know, considering that I actually wasn’t on set for very long.”

“Well, you did an important job,” Enjolras said. “Thanks to you people might actually believe that my character is a dance instructor.”

Grantaire patted him on the back. “You’re the one who did all the acting.”

“Still,” Enjolras said, eyeing Grantaire, who seemed to be holding on to his glass of water a little more tightly than strictly necessary.

Wrap parties for movies like this one were strange. Enjolras had already talked to a bunch of people who’d be in the movie, but hadn’t been on set with him at all. It was nice to come together at the end of it all and, even though he’d never admit it, it was nice to see Grantaire again as well.

They sat together for a while, chatting idly, Cosette joined them after a while, Marius not far behind, although it seemed like Cosette wasn’t bothered by him at all. As sweet as she was, Enjolras was sure that if she didn’t like having an admirer as persistent as Marius, she would have let him know a while ago. Enjolras spent some time talking to one of the camera guys, Bahorel, then he bumped into Grantaire again.

“I was actually looking for you,” Grantaire said. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, it’s kinda late and I have a couple coming over tomorrow morning for a private lesson, so yeah.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow.”

“Yeah, they…” Grantaire leaned closer, whispering, “They offered me a shitton of money for it.”

Enjolras laughed. “Alright, then.”

“We’re all slaves of a capitalist society, man.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to stay much longer either,” Enjolras said. “I could give you a ride.” Grantaire had complained about his car breaking down earlier, so Enjolras might as well spare him another cab fare. Anyway, Grantaire’s place wasn’t _completely_ out of his way.

“You really don’t have to,” Grantaire said, smiling sheepishly, “although that’d be really nice of you.” He nudged him. “I’m really not used to that from you.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Please.”

It took a while until they’d said goodbye to everyone, but they eventually made it outside and into Enjolras’ car. They were both keeping quiet at first, then Grantaire started humming along to the radio, fingers tapping to the beat.

“So, what’s next for you?” Grantaire asked after a while. “Or aren’t you allowed to tell?”

“I’m going to Paris on Tuesday,” Enjolras replied. He was going to work with Jean Lamarque, one of his favorite directors. To him this was the job of a lifetime. The script was fantastic, they’d be shooting in four different languages with a brilliant cast and crew – Enjolras really was excited about this and he did want to share it with Grantaire, but he could get in a lot of trouble if the wrong person got a hold of this information.

“Paris,” Grantaire said, lips curling into a smile, “that sounds great. I’ve always wanted to go. Are you going for fun?”

“Not quite,” Enjolras said, “although I’m sure that I’ll have a good time regardless.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“What about you?” Enjolras asked.

“I won’t be doing anything quite that exciting. I mean, I’ve been back at the studio teaching classes for the last two weeks and I’ll be doing it,” he smirked, “well, probably indefinitely.”

“I might come by to visit once I’m back in town,” Enjolras said. He wasn’t sure if Grantaire even wanted to stay in touch, but somehow it’d feel wrong to Enjolras to just never hear from him again.

“Sure, I’ll pick a new dance to teach you until then. Or I’ll teach you some advanced stuff, I think you’re ready for that.”

Enjolras smiled. “That’d be nice.” He took a right and drove past Grantaire’s studio and then stopped right in front of his door.

“You could have just dropped me off out front, you know?”

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Enjolras mumbled. “Thank you for everything.”

“Sure thing.” Grantaire took off his seatbelt, smiling one of his half-smiles. “Enjoy Paris.”

Enjolras nodded. “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure why they were so close all of a sudden. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d leaned in, but Grantaire was only inches away from him now and it was strange, because Enjolras usually didn’t just want to kiss people like he did right now. It happened gradually and he didn’t know why it should have been any different with Grantaire, which meant that this had probably been a long time coming and Enjolras just hadn’t noticed somehow.

Grantaire exhaled softly, his breath tickling Enjolras’ skin, and Enjolras leaned closer still, his nose bumping against Grantaire’s. He kissed him once, quickly, just a brush of lips, then Grantaire’s fingers snuck into his hair, pulling him closer, sucking at his bottom lip and Enjolras wasn’t even sure what exactly he was doing anymore. He was dimly aware that he had one hand curled around Grantaire’s neck, keeping him close, the other one was clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable, kissing in the car, but Enjolras wasn’t keen on letting go. In the end it was Grantaire who pulled away, sucking in a deep breath when he slumped back against his seat.

“Holy shit,” Grantaire whispered. “This…” He tugged his fingers through his hair. “We shouldn’t have done this.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras should have asked if this way okay, he should have double-checked instead of just assuming. “I didn’t mean to–”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t think I didn’t want to kiss you, because I did, but that doesn’t mean that it was a good idea.” Grantaire shook his head. “Sorry, I should just…” He opened the door, briefly glancing at Enjolras. “Thanks for the ride. I’m sorry, I’ll just… have fun in Paris.”

And before Enjolras could say another word, Grantaire had slammed the door shut and walked away. Enjolras watched him go inside, not quite sure what exactly had just happened. He had no idea what to do, because if Grantaire had wanted to talk about it, he wouldn’t have fled from his car.

Enjolras eventually drove away because staying parked outside Grantaire’s door obviously wasn’t the best thing to do right now. Instead of going home, he went to Combeferre’s.

* * *

“Have you talked to him?” Combeferre sounded tired and Enjolras really couldn’t blame him because it was nearly lunch time for him, which meant that it was past midnight for Combeferre.  But it was Sunday and Enjolras had already had way too much time to think.

“When would I have talked to him?” Enjolras grumbled.

“I don’t know, I just thought you might have found the time to do it sometime during the past three weeks.”

“Well, I was going to call him,” Enjolras said. “I just needed to figure out what to say to him, my problem is that I _still_ don’t know what to say.”

“How about you just tell him that you miss him?”

“I don’t miss him.” Enjolras sighed. Maybe he did. “I just want to know what happened. “

“Because you like him.”

“Well…” He couldn’t really say no, because although he wasn’t sure, there was a little voice in the back of his head that insisted that it might be true. And he couldn’t lie to Combeferre.

“Just call him, Enjolras.” Combeferre was starting to sound vaguely exasperated now, which was never a good sign.

“I will,” Enjolras mumbled, “but don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous to just call after such a long time?”

“Look,” Combeferre said, “I assume that if you don’t call him today or this week, you’ll still want to do it next week, and the week after that, and the longer you wait, the more ridiculous it becomes. Just do it today.”

“Okay…” Enjolras took a deep breath. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Combeferre was silent for a moment. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t?”

“I was talking to Courfeyrac before you called,” Combeferre said. “But I’m going to bed now. And you are going to call Grantaire.”

“I will,” Enjolras said, although when he’d said goodbye to Combeferre, he just wasn’t sure if it was really such a good idea. He did have a feeling that Combeferre was going to call him to check if he’d actually done what he’d said he’d do and Enjolras didn’t want to have to explain to him why he’d chickened out.

So a couple of hours later, when he was sure that he wouldn’t be waking Grantaire up, Enjolras picked up his phone again and dialed Grantaire’s number, giving himself a silent pep talk while it kept ringing.

Grantaire eventually picked up, sounding out of breath. “Enjolras?”

“Hello,” Enjolras only said. And that just really wouldn’t do. “How have you been?”

“How have I been? Seriously?”

“Please, Grantaire, can we talk?” Enjolras asked. “About what happened before I left?”

“It’s been _weeks_.”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d known that this wouldn’t go well. “I’m sorry, I was–”

“ _Weeks_ , Enjolras.”

“I really am sorry,” Enjolras said. “I just want to know what happened.”

“We kissed and we shouldn’t have.”

“But why?”

“Because…” Grantaire groaned. “Look, this is not a conversation that we should be having on the phone. Especially because you’re still in Paris and this call is probably costing you a fortune.”

“How do you know that I’m still in Paris?”

“Because you posted a picture of the Eiffel tower on Twitter two days ago,” Grantaire said dryly. “We can talk, okay? When you’re back home?”

“Okay, let’s do that.”

He’d be in Paris for two more weeks, then he’d go back to the States. He was going to New York first to spend a couple of days with Courfeyrac, who’d just started rehearsals for a new musical. Then he’d go back to Los Angeles. Then he could talk to Grantaire.

* * *

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Courfeyrac muttered, grinning at Enjolras. “The rumors never stop.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What is it this time?”

“Looks like we’re dating again,” Courfeyrac said and handed over his laptop.

“Why do you even read this stuff?” Enjolras asked. He’d googled himself once, just out of curiosity. He’d never done that again. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, seemed to like to read what people said about him on the internet and in magazines.

And now he’d found a bunch of photos of the two of them, all of them taken during the last couple of days. There were photos of them strolling through Central Park, going out for dinner, of Enjolras picking up Courfeyrac after rehearsals. The article was very obviously insinuating that the two of them were _back together_.

“They _still_ think that we were dating?” Enjolras asked. A couple of years ago a lot of magazines had kept insinuating that the two of them were a couple and, yes, he’d been friends with Courfeyrac for ages, but they’d never been together. And they never would be. “This is ridiculous.”

“But they called us cute, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said, wiggling his eyebrows at him. “Although the two of us would never be as cute as Combeferre and I, sorry man.”

Enjolras laughed. “Well, I suppose one day I’ll find pictures of you two on the internet. Or, well, you’ll send them to me.”

“I sure will,” Courfeyrac said. “You know, he’s coming here for opening night. And then there’ll be tons of articles about how I dumped you for another guy. It’s going to be awesome.”

“I’m glad that you’re enjoying this so much,” Enjolras mumbled.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Well, you’ll probably be dating Grantaire soon, so yeah. When you come back to watch the show, you can bring him with you. ”

“I have to talk to him first.” Enjolras sighed. He’d spent the past couple of days thinking about Grantaire, most of the time out loud, trying to figure out what he wanted, if he wanted to be in a relationship, what that would mean for him, for Grantaire, because he obviously needed to take into account what Grantaire wanted, and what if Grantaire was just going to tell Enjolras to leave him alone?

“Enjolras, come on,” Courfeyrac said and threw a grape at him. “I’ve been doing such a great job at distracting you.”

Enjolras gave him a look.

“Okay, I have failed. But hey, you’re going back in a couple of hours and you can talk to him tomorrow and then you can call me and tell me how it went and everything’s going to be just peachy.”

“Tomorrow,” Enjolras said, nodding, “yeah.”

“You want to go to his place right after your plane lands, don’t you?”

Enjolras only shrugged. He might.

* * *

Enjolras was glad that Grantaire even opened the door for him when he rang his doorbell later that day. Because it had taken Enjolras a while to get home and there had been some things that he’d had to take care of, so it was late now and he’d almost reconsidered talking to Grantaire today. But only almost.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire greeted him. “You know, when I said that we could talk when you were back, I meant you can call me and we can arrange a time and date for when we’re going to do the talking, so I can mentally prepare myself for it.”

Enjolras made a face. He really wasn’t very good at his. “I brought you something,” he said and held up the paper bag he was carrying.

“What’s that?”

Enjolras handed over the bag, watching as Grantaire pulled out the styrofoam box and opened it. “They’re not from the same guy who did the catering on set, but they’re small, which I think you said was the point of them.”

“You got me mini burgers,” Grantaire said and flipped the box shut. He bit his lip. “Okay, whatever, come in.”

Enjolras toed off his shoes at the door and made himself comfortable on Grantaire’s old leather sofa. Grantaire joined him and put the burgers down on the coffee table, looking at Enjolras, then back at the bag with the burgers. “I’m going to have one. Then we can talk.”

He ended up having three and also let Enjolras have one. He licked his fingers when he was done and Enjolras really would have liked to say that he did not find that mesmerizing. Grantaire leaned back, only staring at him for a long moment. Enjolras didn’t say a word either, a little scared to break the silence.

“So, how was New York?” Grantaire asked, his lips twitching.

“You saw those photos, didn’t you?” Well, it was hardly surprising. A lot of websites and magazines had picked them up. They’d been everywhere.

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, but someone once told me not to believe everything I read on the internet,” he said. “Still looked like you were having fun, though.”

“I was,” Enjolras said. But he wasn’t here to talk about New York. “Grantaire...”

“I know, you want to talk.” Grantaire folded his arms over his chest, chewing on his bottom lip. “So?”

“You said that... when we kissed, you said it was a mistake, that we shouldn’t have,” Enjolras said slowly. He needed to tread carefully now, because telling Grantaire that he’d missed him for the past couple of weeks and that he’d spent way too much time thinking about how his lips had felt on his would probably just freak him out. “Why did you say that?”

“Look,” Grantaire said, “even if we were, I don’t know, regular people, we wouldn’t really make the best– You know, I don’t even know what you want. But I like you and maybe for some unfathomable reason you like me too, but yeah, like, even if you weren’t this super famous Hollywood star, we’d make the worst couple of all time.”

“I’m not a _super famous Hollywood star_.”

“Well, you’re famous enough for paparazzi to sit outside my studio all day because they want to get a picture of you.”

“That doesn’t mean that I can’t go out on dates or...” Enjolras decided to bite back the _or be in a relationship_ for now.

Grantaire blinked at him. “You want to go out on dates? With me?”

“I thought that was obvious,” Enjolras said.

“Maybe to you,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, that’s an even worse idea than making out in your car.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone’s going to find out about it. People are going to judge me and scrutinize my entire life and I’m far from perfect, you know? I know I’m not good enough for you and sooner or later they’re going to figure that out as well.”

“I don’t care what _they_ think,” Enjolras said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. And what you think about me matters as well, Enjolras. I have a past, I’m not...” Grantaire pulled his legs up against his chest. “Remember that wrap party? You noticed that I wasn’t drinking, right? I’m pretty sure you did, because you’re smart and you spent a lot of time staring at my water.”

Enjolras nodded. He hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions, but he’d been wondering about it.

“Well,” Grantaire said, “I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in nearly one and a half years. It’s the longest I’ve ever made it. There’s no guarantee that I won’t slip up again. Seriously, you’ve never seen me on a bad day.”

“But there’s a chance that I will?” That was all he could ask for. A chance. Because he liked Grantaire and he wasn’t the only one who had flaws. He had bad days, too.

Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I work a lot,” Enjolras said, “and I haven’t been in a relationship in quite a while, so I probably wouldn’t be a very good boyfriend, and I know that I can be... difficult.”

“Yeah, difficult to work with, I know.” Grantaire’s lips twitched. “I get it, you’re not perfect either.”

“I just want you to stop seeing as a famous person. That’s not all I am.”

“I know that.” Grantaire inched a little closer. “But still, we barely know each other.”

“You know a lot of things about me,” Enjolras said. “Remember all that stuff you wanted to sell to _Us Weekly_?”

Grantaire grinned. “Well, yeah. I’m sure there’s more, though.”

“I thought that was why people went out on dates. So they could talk about all those things.”

“Smartass,” Grantaire mumbled. He took a deep breath. “So, do you know any places that aren’t infested with paparazzi where we can have dinner or something?”

“I’m sure I could figure something out.”

“Well, there’s always the burger place across the road,” Grantaire said. “Or I could make burgers. Or whatever else you like. Actually, I could teach you how to cook.”

Enjolras smiled. “I’d like that.”

* * *

“Is he here?”

Musichetta grinned broadly when she looked up. She was sitting behind the counter, probably taking care of the paperwork that Grantaire hated so much. He really was lucky to have her. “Well, hello there.”

“Yes, hello.” Enjolras ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I was just...”

“Excited, huh?” Musichetta asked. “He’s practicing in Room II.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras whispered, flashing her a smile before he snuck down the hall.

He wasn’t supposed to be in LA yet. He’d caught an earlier flight to surprise Grantaire. There was something he needed to ask him and he really couldn’t wait, although Enjolras stopped in his tracks when he found Grantaire dancing inside Room II.

Enjolras remained standing in the door, watching until Grantaire spotted him in the mirror and froze. “Enjolras?”

“Hey,” Enjolras said, stepping inside to pull Grantaire into his arms.

“I’m sweaty,” Grantaire said, but didn’t protest any further when Enjolras kissed him. When they pulled apart, he was smiling. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow evening?”

“Well, that was the original plan,” Enjolras mumbled. “But there’s something I need to ask you.”

“Okay?” Grantaire took him by the hand and spun him around before he pulled him back against him, slowly swaying to the music that was still playing.

“Remember that movie that you taught me how to dance for?”

“Ah, that one,” Grantaire said, “yeah, I remember.”

“Well, the LA premiere is two weeks from now and I thought you might want to come,” Enjolras said. He’d been thinking about asking Grantaire to go with him for a while. It would be a big step for them. No one knew that they were dating, save for a few select people, but if Grantaire came to the premiere with him, Enjolras would tell everyone that he was his boyfriend.

“You want to take _me_?” Grantaire asked. “There must be someone better than your dance coach. Because your dance coach doesn’t have a suit that’s appropriate for a movie premiere. I only have a pink suit that my former roommate left me.”

“You’re not just my dance coach.” Enjolras kissed the top of his head. “And I want people to know that you’re not just my dance coach.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t sure,” Enjolras said, pulling Grantaire a little closer. “What do you think?”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to get a new suit,” Grantaire mumbled and tilted his head to kiss Enjolras’ jaw.

Enjolras hummed. “I’ll help you pick one,” he said, laughing when Grantaire spun him around again.  


End file.
